The Beginning of a Fallen Prince
by Darth Vyper
Summary: Don't walk the nights alone. He should have just listened. But was it worth giving up his life for? He had stumbled, and now he couldn't get up again. He was Kurda Smahlt, the fallen prince of the damned.
1. Plague

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**Chapter 1 : Plague.**

_1869, London, England._

It was too late, he knew it. Even with the wind pleading its mournful howl and his cape flaring out behind his sore back like a preening peacock's tail, he carried on, willing his dreary legs to move faster.

Kurda Smahlt just _wouldn't_ give up. He couldn't. Not when the one soul that dared to gaze upon his icy blue eyes without a flinch counted upon him to ferry the one thing that mattered the most.

Wiping away the ashy soot and dirt that licked his lashes as he strode past a workhouse, he hurried his strides. Grimy faces peered at him, eyes awonder and silently pleading with innocence not known. His gut clenched as one crippled girl looked up at his stumbling figure that tried to best the furious gales, her mismatched eyes gleaming with curiosity.

_Not now, Kurda…You have to think about mother first…_he reinforced in his mind, hoping beyond hope that that simple statement would wash away the horrendous images of the ill-begotten children.

Tearing his eyes away, he began to trot slowly, the looming darkness swallowing the dilapidated structure behind him – clouding the stricken features of the young and hopeful. Instead, a small cottage gleamed a few hundred yards in front of him, the tiny speck of light barely visible in a distance.

_Hurry,_ his conscience pushed himself. _Or else it will be too late. Run, boy, run!_

With renewed valor, he broke into a dead sprint, the wind no longer his adversary. By the time he reached the chipped pathway that lead towards the forlorn cottage, his knees almost buckled with exhaustion. His nostrils flared as he drew in ragged gasps of air, his clammy palms already pushing open the door.

But he paused hesitantly. For the tiniest fraction of a second, he found himself being watched – being silently assessed by someone lurking in the shadows…or perhaps _something_ altogether…

_What are you waiting for, you bloody fool? Open the damn door! _his innerself hollered, squelching the deep desire to turn around and peer at the person – provided that there was even such a being to begin with – that was sending his heart into a furious tempo.

Shaking off all sense of unease, Kurda reluctantly crossed the threshold of the meager mass of yellow bricks and rotting wood.

"Mother, I found the medicine-" His voice died in his throat as the vicar stood next to a lifeless body, his own bespectacled eyes red with unshed tears.

"No!" Kurda moaned, throwing himself towards the woebegone cot in the corner, his fingers desperately clutching the ice cold hand of Deidre Smahlt.

"Calm yourself , Kurda!" the vicar snapped, his arms reaching out to haul the unsteady lad away from the already rotting corpse.

"But how ?" Kurda howled, eyes brimming with tears and soul shadowed by grief . "How could this have happened? How? Doctor Feldris said it wasn't too late – the plague would not overwhelm her until the end of winter! How, how, _HOW_?"

The vicar sighed deeply. "She couldn't hold much longer, Kurda. After you left, she was slowly becoming delusional. She kept talking to me akin to that of a child, asking me whether wheat cookies and fresh goat's milk would suffice…" He paused and drew a shaky breath before looking away. "I'm afraid she was frail-"

The younger man's eyes snapped up at his words, his sorrow turned to rage in a mere matter of seconds. He grabbed the vicar by his velvet cloak and held the stouter man up so that their eyes would meet.

"SHE WASN'T FRAIL !" he yelled, louder than necessary .

"Put me down, Kurda! Or you'll be barred from the likes of London for the rest of your days!" the vicar growled in return, his pudgy face flushing crimson.

Kurda slowly lowered the man , glowering and mourning at the same time . He broke into a fresh wave of tears once again, his fingers caressing the lumpy skin of his mother's once beautiful face. Deidre was truly a great beauty – in life alone, she had many a suitor and had attracted none other than Lord Kendric Smahlt himself. Her life as maiden was blissful and painless – Kurda remembered that much, for he was an urchin of eight at that time – up till the moment his father had an ill-fated run in with a large brown bear during hunting. Stripped away from silken sheets and thrust into tattered cloaks in less than a fortnight, he watched his mother suffer to feed both himself and his younger brother, barely an infant at that time.

Deidre's beauty had never wavered however, even though her dainty hands were as roughened by starch and tainted by washwork. But now…now she looked _terrible_…

Granted, her face had creased and sunk in like worn leather, her body emanating a putrid stench. But none of that mattered to Kurda. She was still his mother, be it in life or death.

Hot tears streamed down his cheeks relentlessly as his fingers tasted the still silken texture of Deidre's caramel blonde hair – the same shade Kurda had proudly inherited from her.

_Mother…_he cried silently, his shoulders shaking and his lips trembling. _Oh, mother…why did you have to leave me be here, lest I suffer alone?_

"Here, take this." The vicar pushed a warm mug of ale into the younger lad's unoccupied left hand, gesturing for him to take a sip. "Made from the finest ginger you can purchase in the city. It should toughen your spirit and clear you mind somewhat."

Kurda sipped slowly from the mug, his tears never ceasing.

"You have to leave Kurda, for your own safety."

The blue-eyed man flinched at the soft tone. The words were gentle, but it sounded harsh all the same.

"But where will I go?" Kurda asked, his gut knotting. _How could I leave mother here?_

"Anywhere but here. The plague has ravaged England and claimed the lives of many as it is. It would be a shame if a bright prodigy such as yourself fall victim to such a disease."

Kurda didn't answer. His gaze lingered upon the pale frame of his mother, his mind still reeling with a thousand concerns and worries.

The vicar sighed and reached into the folds of his cloak, before pulling out a scrap of paper. "Take this – it will take you to Budapest. The last I heard, the plague hasn't reached there yet. You will have a greater chance to start anew there."

Kurda took the slip of paper and studied the untidy scrawls on the surface.

"A ticket ?" he asked dubiously .

"As I said Kurda, it will be a waste to see you die when you are _destined _for far more greater things." With those last words and one reaffirming pat on the shoulder, the vicar took his leave and stepped out of the dingy cottage.

Grasping the ticket tightly in his fist, Kurda followed suit, pausing only once in the doorway as he studied the rotting cadaver of his mother one last time. His heart twisted with anguish, but there was nothing more he could do.

'_Goodbye Deidre, my mother…I shall forever remember you_,' he mouthed, his throat convulsing as he turned away and began to stride into the impending darkness.

Somewhere from within the shadows, emerald eyes glittered with satisfaction, its owner's lips twisted upwards in a small smirk.

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	2. Destiny

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**Chapter 2 : Destiny.**

_1 week later_…

Kurda was a tragic mess. With every step and turn he took, he could only envision one thing – the beautiful sight of his mother smiling at him, her arms held wide open in a welcoming embrace and her violet eyes glinting with exuberance. Alas, she was nothing but a ghost – a figment of his memory. His mother was dead. There simply wasn't any other way to go about it, hallucinating or not.

Running a pale hand through the unkempt mess of locks tangled upon his head, Kurda heaved a deep sigh. The ticket to Budapest laid scrunched up in the bottom of his cloak pocket, long overdue for its fated course to a new life.

"Fool," he hissed at himself, staring up at the inky canvas above. "You're a downright bloody fool, Kurda…"

But no harsh words could stifle the anguish in his heart or mask the filth that obscured his features. What was done was done. One door closes, another would open.

_But when? _he wondered, his gaze never waning. _When would this madness end? The pain of death, the stupid naivety of a better livelihood, the haunting loneliness…When does it all end?_

He sighed regrettably and turned away, his steps lagging as he walked past a train of shops. Three agonizing days ago, he would have done exactly as the vicar had requested. But a lot had changed within those mere hours.

His mother's will had suddenly became apparent – her sole dying wish being for him to find his brother, who had mysteriously vanished almost a decade ago.

Kurda almost wailed with frustration as Father Perenell read out Deidre's request. How could he – Kurda Smahlt, son of None – track down the whereabouts of a young boy that had disappeared without a trace? Kulen Smahlt was brave and adventurous – sure, but it was impossible to hope beyond hope that he remained alive all this while.

Gritting his teeth at the aching madness and his torn desire to just abandon this futile search for his most certainly dead brother, Kurda resisted the urge to run his fist into a cracked window.

But he paused at the very last moment, his temper abating.

"_Never fight, Kurda. Always reason," his mother's voice echoed in his thoughts, her tone calm and soothing. "Remember who you are at all times, my precious son…Do not be hasty in words or actions, for they reap the greatest of irrevocable consequences…"_

His breath steadied and his hand dropped limply by his side.

"Oi! Get away from my window, you yellow-bellied tramp!" yelled a burly shopkeeper with a thick moustache, a battered broom clutched tightly in his left fist.

Kurda held his hands apart in a placating gesture, but the shopkeeper shouted again, his tone rising by an octave. Deciding there was nothing he could do to appease the angered gentleman, Kurda glided away like a silent phantom, his weary steps leading him towards the only garden the dreary square housed.

Angry creepers strangled almost every rosebush in the once lively patch of green, their deadly thorns gleaning sharply under the supple glow of the moonlight. Death. It was all around him. There was no way of escaping it, he realized. Everything has either left or died.

_But should I leave too? Would death welcome me in her embrace, knowing that my naked desire to sleep in her arms deserves no clemency? _

_**SNAP ! **_

Kurda swiveled sharply to his right, his thoughts shattering. His tattered cloak fluttered behind him madly at the sudden movement. Nothing but darkness greeted his eyes – darkness, thorns and withered roses. He almost cursed himself out loud for being a paranoid wretch.

"A cat," he reasoned finally, his ears straining for pitiful mewling sounds to come. "Or perhaps a lone squirrel seeking shelter from this blasted horror."

_**SNAP! **_

Kurda flinched. The sound was incredibly sharp and piercing this time – it almost sounded as if-

_**SNAP!**_

_Too loud and heavy to be an animal,_ he realized with sudden hesitance, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. _Someone's out there. Either someone or something…_

Using the bravest voice he could muster, he called out into the gloom, "Who's there?"

Nothing but silence greeted his shaky query. "I'm warning you," he continued, his back prickling with beads of sweat, "I'm armed and dangerous. I would not advise you to-"

A soft chuckle interrupted his heroic speech. His jaw snapped shut immediately, clamped tightly by fear and uncertainty.

"Quite a brave one, aren't you ? Maybe it won't be such a bad idea having you as company after all."

The cold steely voice that answered his call sent a wave of tingles down his spine. A lean but muscular man – physically no older that thirty – began to step out of the shadows, his green eyes glittering with amusement.

He wasn't exactly handsome or imposing, but his long black hair that danced with the breeze and the hardened edge that he held about himself made him seem formidable and somewhat mysterious. The older man stopped short about three feet shy from Kurda, his pale lips cracking into a wicked smile.

"I've been watching you for quite some time, Kurda Smalht. A strong hearted lad with enough bravery and respect to face the unknown future ahead – all key components which I'm looking for in an assistant," the man started, his tone sly and forbidding.

Kurda took a step back warily, his throat constricting. He was torn between anxiety and confusion, the rational part of his mind somewhat transfixed by this stranger's statement, and yet the more instinctive part of him prompting his legs to whisk him away as quickly as possible.

"Oh, how silly of me," the stranger suddenly said, cocking his head to one side. "It appears that I've forgotten to introduce myself. I'm Vaclav Van Pierre."

Vaclav took a short bow, the small beam never slipping off his face. Kurda didn't react.

_Quit gaping at him like a fool, Kurda,_ he mentally chided himself. And yet his vocal chords remained frozen.

Vaclav gave a small laugh at his stunned silence. "As I said, quite a character you have."

Kurda could think of nothing to do but nod in return. Vaclav's eyes lost all traces of humor within seconds and hardened.

"Come lad, we have a lot to talk about," he muttered, before turning away and heading past an enormous bramble bush. Kurda hesitated, his heart skyrocketing once more. Something was happening, he knew it. But what it was, he never found out until this very moment.

_Destiny…the wretched and most alluring force of all…_

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	3. Damned

**Chapter 3 : Damned.**

Kurda Smahlt followed the older gentleman without complaint. His steps were lagging in pace in comparison to Vaclav's, but with continuous prompting from the now anxious man, he strived to keep up.

"Hurry lad! Dawn is approaching!"

Kurda decided to stop for a moment, allowing his eyes to flicker to the steadily brightening sky above. Purple and gold streaks invaded the heavenly canvas, only to be interspersed by an occasional cloud or two.

_What a beautiful day, _he thought miserably. _Too beautiful a day to die…_

"Kurda!" Vaclav snapped impatiently, turning tail and hauling the younger man forwards by the crook of his elbow. "Goddammit lad, whatever is the matter with you?"

Kurda gazed at him blearily in return, his voice muffled and dreamy.

"Why do you fear the light?"

Vaclav stiffened, his brow raising. "I beg your pardon?"

"The light," he repeated. "Why do you fear it so?"

The strange man sighed heavily. "I do not fear the light, Kurda. The mere rays of the sun aren't frightful to my kind, but they do pose a heavy inconvenience – particularly for the skin."

"Your kind?" Kurda asked, puzzled.

Liquid green eyes hardened into glittering emeralds in an instant. Muttering a low oath as the sun began to ascend higher and claim her throne in the middle of the sky, Vaclav swiveled around sharply, dragging Kurda behind him.

"Later. I'll explain all very soon, lad. Not now," was the only response Kurda received as he attempted again and again to uncover the man's mysterious words.

_But why am I following him the first place?_ he mused, confused. _Am now a common dog, willingly leashed to be led around the streets by an errant stranger without cause or purpose? Or am I about to be a slave pet that shall be cleaned and kept in a cage, only to be fetched out to entertain an overweight maiden with a bad complexion?_

He could ponder no longer as he was dragged into a large yard with a stone fountain set in the middle, a thicket of lush ivy creeping upside one half of the looming mansion beyond. Kurda gaped for a moment, feeling completely lost.

"Quite a beauty, isn't it ?" Vaclav said cheerily, his mood improved as he noted the blonde's expression.

Kurda could only nod in silent agreement.

"Come on then. Let's not dawdle out here any longer than we should."

Vaclav relinquished his hold upon Kurda's elbow – the latter rubbing his fingers against the abused skin since the older man seemed to have a surprisingly strong grip – and crouched near the doorknob of a majestic oak door that lead into the throes of the mansion. Swiftly brushing his index finger and thumb together, he ran a gentle semi-circle around the silver handle, smiling in satisfaction as the door opened with a sudden click.

"Learnt that from Larten Crepsley ten years ago ," Vaklav stated as he watched Kurda's uncertain gaze trained upon him.

"Are you a magician?" Kurda asked hesitantly.

Vaclav snorted and pushed open the door. "Trust me, I'm much _more_ than a petty human who dabbles in illusions and magic."

The raven haired man strode inside with Kurda lumbering along his wake. He then bolted the door shut and headed into the nearest room, beckoning the younger man to follow. Kurda gasped and rubbed his eyes as he looked around the new domain he had entered.

"Holy Mother Mary…" he aspirated, his blue eyes darting back and forth madly as he tried to take in everything at once. Thick lavender drapes hung from the east side of the room, obscuring the stained glass paneled window beyond. Ornate pictures encrusted in gold frames hung from the walls, complemented by smooth velvet carpets that were soft and tingly under his toes. A monstrous chandelier glittered from its perch on the intricately designed ceiling, it's golden tresses dangling low enough for a man of decent height to run his fingers through.

Vaclav chuckled, hauling him out of his reverie. He turned to face the older man - who had made himself comfortable on one of the purple armchairs and appeared to be sipping some deep red liquid from a wine glass.

"You must be wallowing in money," Kurda exclaimed.

Vaclav smiled at his choice of words before draining the contents of his glass dry in a single gulp. "The actual owners of this…_palace _have fled far east in fear of the plague. I found it such a shame for anyone to abandon such a great a beauty, so I decided to hole up here for a week or two until I came across the perfect lad suited to be my traveling companion."

Kurda was speechless at this revelation. A flicker of unease shot through him. He had a vague idea that he was brought here for a purpose that he may not like the outcome of.

_Only what?_

The older man continued, his tone smooth and casual. "I've searched many years for an assistant and yet failed to seek anyone who meets my standards." He set the wine glass down and sighed heavily, massaging his temples. "That was of course, until I found _you_, Kurda."

Kurda felt his heart speed up. This conversation…this turn of events…something just wasn't _right_…

"A young, intelligent man full of respect for others and not to mention brave at heart when it comes to risking your very own life to save another…"

He paused and shot up from the armchair in one languid motion, his hard eyes transfixed on a portrait of a young woman picking sunflowers on a lazy autumn day.

"Have you heard about vampires, Kurda?" he asked gently, still not facing the quivering form of Kurda Smahlt.

Kurda felt a memory in the back of his head reel, his mother's tone ringing through his thoughts once more. _Vampires. Creatures of darkness, spawns of Satan himself – do not wander into the woods alone, Kurda…They feast upon the blood of the living, and be assured, they would make a mockery of your body as they rip you apart to claim nourishment…_

A pang of sadness hit him as Deidre's voice ebbed away, her continuous words of 'darkness' and 'evil' echoing in its wake.

_But it's impossible,_ he reasoned. _There is no way such beings really exist…or do they?_

"Vampires are actually noble creatures, Kurda," Vaclav started quietly. "Legends have twisted and reshaped the minds of the gullible to believe them as the makings of the Devil, but they are _not_."

Kurda flinched at the heavy growl that followed.

"Vampires are in truth, respectful beings that treasure life and avoid minimal human contact unless out of outmost importance such as the need to feed. Even then, they do _not_ kill…We never do…" He paused again, gritting his teeth. "We take only little blood, enough to keep us alive – leaving nothing but a small mark on the human we have supped from. And yet humans hunt us down like dogs, unknowing to the fact that from the shadows therein lies another breed that kills those they have supped from without mercy."

Vaclav spat bitterly on the ground. "I have walked across this world for two hundred years alone. Never have I thought of company until I wandered into this blasted town, with nothing but death and loneliness bleeding from every direction…" He groaned mournfully, his right hand obscuring his face.

Seconds ticked by, but Kurda waited, somehow horrified and awed by Vaclav's tale. The vampire drew in a deep sigh, his hand slipping away as he turned to reveal an agonized expression.

"Loneliness…sorrow…I have seen it all, but what is there to life spent a thousand years if you were to spend it _alone_?" He crossed the room in less than a second, his sudden appearance causing Kurda to gasp and stumble out of surprise.

"Then I came upon _you_, Kurda," he breathed, his voice ragged and no longer level. "I watched you persevere through the elements – through the atrocities of men and women alike, desperate to save the one thing you care about the most."

Kurda turned away, his eyes overwhelmed by tears.

"But even when you had failed, you continued to live…endure…sacrifice…Not many men can do that after what you've been through, Kurda. Only the most courageous and spirited of souls can overcome such harsh lessons…Which begs the question…Do you want to join me, Kurda? Quench both our sorrows, both our loneliness' ?"

His tear streaked eyes snapped up. Frosty blue met icy green. The world tilted at that very moment, and a part of him reared its jubilant front at the very notion.

_Not alone…Alone no more…Companion…Comrade…Brother…_

The words rang around his head repeatedly, chiming through his rationality and crushing his resolve. The answer was on the tip of his tongue before he knew it.

"Y-Yes…" he choked out.

Vaclav nodded silently, his jewel-bright eyes never melting. With one quick motion, he hauled Kurda to his feet, before placing his fingertips against the younger man's own.

"What are you…?

"Half a vampire is all you shall be at this point," the older man cut across, his nostrils flaring impatiently. "You will age as one for every five years to pass, sire no children of your own but are able to move about during the day as easily as any human. Have I made myself clear?"

Kurda nodded mutely in return, only to yelp as Vaclav's fingernails bored into the fleshy tips of his fingers. Swearing colorfully, he began to rub them against his cloak to stifle the sting.

"Stop! Let them bleed."

The younger man obeyed willingly, wincing as the vampire jammed the ends of his fingers against his own. The sensation could only be described as…peculiar. He could feel blood flowing out through his left arm and reentering his body through his right, almost as if there was invisible heart that was prompting the transition. But as the process continued, the sense of weirdness began to turn into pain.

Flinching at the twisting of his gut and the continuous stammer of his heart, Kurda's knees almost buckled until Vaclav severed the connection at the very last moment. He stumbled backwards into the armchair giddily, his eyes drifting as the vampire began to lick his fingertips.

"What are you doing?" he asked groggily.

"My spit heals cuts," the older man responded curtly before licking his own wounds.

Kurda surveyed his fingertips confusedly, his vision barely registering the fresh scars on his fingertips.

"Rest well. The transition has taken much out of you."

Kurda nodded numbly as he welcomed sleep with open arms.

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	4. Taste

**Chapter 4 : Taste.**

Kurda struggled to lift his eyelids. Everything was dark and bright, the constant twist of colors causing him to groan. When he had awoken long enough to push himself off the queen-sized bed he was propped upon – he had a vague idea it was his mentor's doing – he'd noticed that everything was unusually sharp.

Cracks on the wall gone unnoticed by mortal eyes were now as large as chasms. Rats scuttling on the supporting beams above resonated in his ears like gunfire. The warm scent of honeysuckle and roses filtered from the garden outside, even though the window was sealed shut.

Somewhat disturbed by the clarity of his senses, Kurda forced himself up on his feet. He was in a large room of sorts, the gold trimmings and furnishings too much for his mind to comprehend.

"Where am I?" he mused aloud.

A small chuckle in the corner of the room nearly made him jump out of his own skin.

"Vaclav!" he exclaimed loudly after the initial shock had abated.

The older vampire stepped out of the shadowed corner and beamed . "Feeling any better today ?"

Kurda mumbled a vague 'yes' in reply before fixing his gaze on a pair of fresh clothes that were piled up on a nearby study desk.

"How long have you been standing…?"

"Long enough to hear you snore and mutter throughout your sleep," Vaclav replied, snorting. Kurda's cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. But before he could say anything in his defense, his mentor's face grew passive.

"Is there anything you would like to tell me, Kurda? Considering the fact that I kept hearing you mumble and rave about someone named Kulen throughout the night…"

The younger vampire drew in a sharp intake of breath. Nightmares about the disappearance of his brother were uncommon to him, but lately…

He sighed deeply, his fingers raking through the unkempt curls on his head. He knew that Vaclav was expecting an answer, and would most probably pester him relentlessly lest he be satisfied.

"Kulen was my younger brother. He vanished one night a few years back," Kurda aspirated silently, pain and grief gnawing mercilessly at his nerves.

Too his surprise, the older man didn't pursue the matter, nor did he appear particularly nosey. His eyes were still hard like polished gemstones, but his voice was gentle.

"Have a bath and get dressed, lad. I have loads to teach you before the next council."

Kurda was already winding his way towards the bath but swiveled sharply at the last possible moment.

"What council ?" he asked blearily.

"I'll brief yousoon," Vaclav replied smoothly. He reached into the folds of his maroon cloak, before fishing out a gold pocket watch and studying it.

"Do hurry, Kurda. We really must make haste," he continued impatiently, slipping the watch back into its respective holding.

Kurda nodded and strode quickly into the gilded bath for a quick scrub. After seizing a woolen towel and patting himself dry, he quickly slipped into his new clothes, discarding his tattered cloak that reeked of filth and decay by the sink.

_Gone are you, my old life,_ he thought, admiring himself in the ornate mirror standing at the corner of his room.

He looked proud and regal, like the proper son of a Lord, not the hapless orphan and vagabond he has spent his life as these last few days.

_I wish mother could see me like this…_

It was not until Vaclav gave a teasing shout from downstairs that he finally decided to barrel down the marble steps, literally mowing down any inanimate objects that stood in his way.

"Slow and steady, Kurda. The world isn't going to perish anytime soon," Vaclav teased, clucking his tongue as his apprentice nearly rammed into a candelabra.

Kurda snarled silently before slipping on his new leather shoes.

"Where are we heading ?" he asked excitedly as he stepped out of the mansion and waited impatiently for Vaclav to shut the door.

"To feed."

Kurda's body came to a sudden halt. The world around him spun for a moment. He couldn't have heard that right…could he?

"I beg your pardon?"

Vaclav gave a tight smile. "It is essential for a vampire to feed off the blood of others to survive. Since you are a half vampire however, you'll only need to consume little blood to keep you going. Come now, let's make haste before it gets too late."

Kurda nodded in dumbfounded approval and rushed after his mentor who moved at a rapid pace. After what seemed like trundling inanely for hours, Kurda finally stopped by a small clearing – where Vaclav had suddenly came to a halt.

"I know this place," Kurda couldn't help but proudly exclaim, ignoring the stabbing sensation that was creeping up his left leg.

"This is right outside Cheshire. Lady Wilkins used to host her annual tea parties in this garden for the whole town." He paused and frowned heavily. "But we must be halfway across the city to get to here…"

Surprisingly, Vaclav did not respond to his sudden outburst of insight. Neither did the older vampire even acknowledge his protégé's very presence. Slightly unnerved by his ignorance, Kurda was just about to tap him on the shoulder until his eyes followed his master's gaze.

Sitting quietly by himself on one of the maple benches was a young fellow bordering adulthood, his face sullen and brooding. Kurda hesitated, his senses alert.

"Vaclav, you are not planning on…?"

The older vampire snarled at his untimely interruption and Kurda fell silent immediately. Vaclav slowly inched closer towards the boy like a predator stalking his prey, and with alarming speed, closed in on the unsuspecting human who gave a shout of surprise in retaliation. He lifted the shorter lad by the folds of his cloak and exhaled deeply on the boy's face. The latter struggled for a second or two, before collapsing into a dead faint.

Placing the boy gently on the bench and making a small cut on his arm with his fingernail, the vampire immediately fixed his lips against the wound, suckling hungrily. Kurda stared numbly, partially from shock and disgust. After Vaclav had had his fill, he took out a small handkerchief and wiped the corners of his mouth before turning towards his mortified assistant and motioning him to come closer.

"Drink, Kurda," he commanded in a monotone voice .

Kurda instantly mumbled out a "no" and shook his head, backing away.

"Do not be a fool, lad!" Vaclav snapped suddenly, his face flaming with anger. "By not feeding you are denying your own right to live. My vampire blood which I pumped into you last night will not supply you with enough nourishment for long. You need to feed to live, so drink!"

Kurda stared at his shoes. For a long while, he didn't do anything. He couldn't.

_Life is in the blood…_he recounted the phrase from the bible. _It would be a sin to feast on the living…_

But he wasn't human anymore, now, was he? He was already damned as it is.

A loud grumble roiled in his tummy, emphasizing his master's words. Fully knowing Vaclav was staring daggers at him, he sighed in resignation and slowly headed towards the boy. Every step was dragged, every twist of his spine forced as he crouched over their victim and closed his mouth on the open wound.

Warm salty blood spilled past his lips, trickling down his throat in thick coppery waves of pleasure. After enjoying the sensation for a few minutes, he withdrew his body as Vaclav gently tugged him away.

"Not too much," was the older vampire's curt response. Kurda nodded in agreement, before standing up once more. He watched in fascination as Vaclav applied some of his spit on the boy's wound. It wasn't long before the pair found themselves walking away into the dark forest, the shadows being their only company.

"There's no going back, is there ?" Kurda asked after a moment, his heart twanging painfully.

Vaclav stopped and stared at his assistant, his eyes melting a little."No, Kurda. There is no way back."

"Am I truly a vampire now ?" Kurda asked again, looking away into gloomy canopy beyond.

Too his surprise, Vaclav chuckled mildly. "Kurda, my lad, you just had your first bite –the first taste of the night !"

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	5. Kin

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**Chapter 5 : Kin.**

_5 years later…_

"Vaclav, they are gaining on us!" Kurda shouted, barely ducking as a pitchfork went soaring past his unprotected head.

The older vampire skidded to a halt, long enough to throw himself down as a machete flew past his left shoulder. Hissing sharply as the blade grazed past his skin nonetheless, he pushed himself up in a languid flip, only to tackle his assistant into a nearby bush.

"The woods," he whispered hoarsely, shaking a shell-shocked Kurda. "We'll lose them in there easily. Run, lad, run!"

Kurda gave a curt nod and took off immediately, seeking closure in the grove of the stark , black-trunked trees that lied ahead. He cursed and spat bitterly to the ground as the mob of humans – no doubt baying for their blood, or more specifically _his_ blood – began to close in. True, it was his fault he was caught in this predicament. He was hungry and desperate, and in that one miserable moment of _carelessness_…

He faltered in his steps and glanced behind at his swaggering mentor. The older man was gritting his teeth – his left arm limp and soaked with blood. Kurda's words died in his throat.

"What are you waiting for, you fool? Run!" Vaclav hissed.

Swallowing heavily, Kurda abided to the vampire's wishes. Apologies could wait. He doubted they would make it through the night alive, let alone in one piece. But if they did, he promised himself he'd make it up to his master.

"There he is!" came the voice of an unmistakably excited human.

Kurda winced at the jubilant chorus of shouts that preceded that exclamation, followed by threatening swishes of metal slicing through the air. He swiveled sharply to face the wise ass that had managed to keep up with him, only to keel backwards at the terrible sight of a rifle being pointed directly at his heart.

Vaclav, surprisingly, was no where in sight.

If things couldn't get any worse, a few more men joined the little idiot, all armed with either cleavers that were enough to slice him open with one swing, or pitchforks and shovels that were used to farm crops.

"Take one more step you loathsome beast, and I'll make a garland of the filling inside your head to be hung on my Christmas tree," cooed one of the men – a wiry red-head with a bulbous nose and freckles. Kurda vaguely recognized him as the son of the innkeeper both Vaclav and himself had sought shelter from three days ago.

_Reason with them, _his conscience prodded gently. _Words chosen with careful precedence can avoid the most terrible of bloodshed._

Holding his hands up in a conciliating gesture, Kurda took a step back warily.

"Listen, I did not harm that girl as you fine gentlemen think. I was just passing through the town and what you saw me doing to that young maiden in the square was…"

"You nearly bled her dry, you indisputable leech!" the man with the rifle intervened, earning a unified response from the rest of the mass.

"And what about the babe yesterday? You bled the infant dry!" another man hollered angrily.

"Yes! It has to be you, you vile serpent! There is nothing else that strides upon these lands as damned as you and your companion are!"

"Be gone, you ill-fated omen of death!"

"Kill him, Robert!" someone else yelled gleefully. "Shoot his tongue for all its worth! That'll teach the hellspawn not to tell lies!"

Kurda winced at the harsh words.

The rifle rose up higher, now aimed at his head instead of his heart. Shutting his eyes close as he waited for the inevitable blow, he stood his ground, only one thought crossing his mind.

_Where are you, Vaclav?_

As if the heavens itself had heard his unvoiced question, he felt someone shove him roughly to the ground. The crack of a gunshot missing its mark rented the air, followed by shouts of anger and alarm. Kurda's eyes snapped open, only to find blazing emeralds staring deep into his ice blue orbs.

"Thought you might need a hand, my young damsel in distress," the older vampire teased, grimacing a little as he shifted his sore arm.

Kurda's jaw dropped open. This couldn't be right…did his master just crack a joke? In the midst of a bloodthirsty mob, where they could very well meet their death…?

_Unbelievable…_he mused, watching as Vaclav rolled away from him, only to flip upwards and land on his feet gracefully.

Metal clashed against metal as the older and more experienced vampire unsheathed his sword and sliced through their pursuers without mercy, laughing all the while at the scattered humans that clumsily tried to do battle with him. Kurda stood up wearily as the shock slowly wore off, his hand flying automatically to the curved dagger tucked in the leather belt looped around his waist.

With one expert blow and one graceful arc, the last man – a puny weasel of a human with flinty eyes – felled to Vaclav's sword, the older vampire grinning in triumph. "Well, that takes care of…"

"Vaclav, look out!" Kurda yelled as one of the supposed dead drew out a small hunting knife, ready to slit his mentor's throat.

In a flash, Kurda instinctively rushed to Vaclav's side, whipping out his dagger and plunging the blade into the man's belly . The man grasped the hilt, gibbered silently as all traces of life finally left his body, and collapsed to the earth below.

"Good blow," Vaclav said proudly, ignoring Kurda's pale face. The dagger slipped from the latter's clammy fingers, landing with a desolate thud below his feet.

Kurda's stomach churned unpleasantly, the sensation wreaking havoc with the rest of his trembling body. Sweat beaded his back and brow as his heart throbbed with guilt.

"I was actually aiming for his arm," he whispered numbly, horrified.

Vaclav snorted. "Do not fret, lad. I'll ask Vanez to brush you up once we head for the next council."

Kurda didn't reply. His mind was overwhelmed with remorse – in all his life, he had never taken the life of another for any purpose. Not even when someone had held a knife at his mother's throat once, demanding that she give whatever coins she'd held in her possession at that time.

But with guilt came a new feeling – curiosity. The events of the whole night began to play back in his head, leaving behind puzzling questions along its wake.

"_And what about the babe yesterday? You bled the infant dry!"_

That phrase chimed through his thoughts louder than the rest, confusing him more than ever.

_What babe?_ He wondered. _Vaclav and I never fed these last few weeks…The maiden in the square was the only one I supped from…_

He turned towards his mentor, expecting some answers. Instead, the older man was busy digging a hole with his bare hands, blood trickling down his arm from the cut on his shoulder.

"Vaclav?"

The vampire grunted, but still continued to dig. Kurda inched closer towards him nervously. He had his own suspicions, but he daren't voice it out just yet.

"Who was the man that killed the babe?" he asked slowly.

Vaclav paused, his fingers going still. A hoarse answer was all he got.

"A vampaneze."

Kurda blinked, somewhat relieved that his master wasn't responsible for the death of the infant. But with this revelation arose another question. Vampaneze? What was that?

He voiced out his queries, hesitating as Vaclav abandoned his digging and turned slowly to stare at him with blazing hatred. Hatred that bored deeply into his skull, and yet didn't seem to be directed towards him.

"Ingrates. Vile filth that taint the shadows, killing anyone they feed upon."

He added a few more expletives, his body shaking with anger. The younger vampire took a step back – never has he seen Vaclav this furious before. But his curiosity overpowered his rationality.

What did these…vampaneze do to elicit such a response?

"So they kill when they feed…" Kurda dragged out slowly.

Emerald eyes glittered with annoyance this time.

"Yes."

"And that makes them bad…?"

"No."

"No?"

Kurda raised his eyebrows and the raven haired vampire rolled his eyes – another uncanny behavior from the older man.

"You're never going to leave me alone unless I tell you, aren't you?" he asked, snorting when Kurda nodded abashedly in response.

Vaclav sighed and moved away from the trail of corpses, before making himself comfortable by a lush hydrangea bush. He gestured for Kurda to do the same, and the younger vampire abided easily.

"The vampaneze were once our kin. Five hundred years ago, vampires used to hunt humans–" he pointedly ignored Kurda's horrified look "- not for sport, mind you, but because we used to believe that absorbing one's soul after feeding was respectful."

"Soul?"

Vaclav nodded stiffly. "Every human has a soul, or essence – whichever way you might prefer to call it. When the last drop of blood in a person's body is drained by a vampire, they absorb a tiny portion of their victim's soul, preserving whatever memory or dreams or even persona the soul once withheld."

He paused and looked towards the glooming vistas beyond.

"But a lot has changed since then…" he started slowly, before sighing heavily. "Humans weren't stupid. Marks on their arms and legs – bodies carelessly strewn away by the young and inexperienced vampires – oh, they noticed all right. It wasn't long before they began to discover us, hunting and killing vampires outright – even going so far as to murder their own kin in suspicion."

"What happened?" Kurda asked curiously, his nerves itching with anticipation.

The older vampire snorted. "What do you think would happen, lad? Humans were after us, vampires were being killed ruthlessly by _vampire hunters_-" he emphasized the last two words angrily "-and everyone was in chaos. The Princes finally decided it was best to take little blood at a time and not kill at all. Of course, some vampires had trouble agreeing with that."

"Trouble?"

Vaclav nodded. "A small group broke away from the vampire clan. They established a new race, calling themselves 'Vampaneze'. They are strictly traditionalists, of course. They still maintained the old ways – absorbing a fraction of the essence from whom they sup from, using weapons made only by their own hands…The only thing they lack is leadership. No proper force to knock them into place if they cross the line."

Kurda spluttered at that statement. "But then they can kill freely without remorse…!"

Vaclav motioned for the younger vampire to fall silent. "Yes, but time has been unkind to them."

"Unkind in what way?" Kurda asked confusedly, anger temporarily forgotten.

Green eyes gleamed with mischief. "They cannot blend in into society as well as we do. While vampires can pass on as a human almost every time, vampaneze cannot."

Kurda waited patiently for him to continue.

"The amount of blood they take has given them purple skin and red eyes – a demon hide by the likes of it, no less."

The blonde's jaw dropped. "Are you serious? _Purple_?"

He didn't know whether he should be horrified or amazed. Vaclav nodded, before getting up and stretching his arms like a great cat, only to wince as his wound smartened with pain.

"But…!"

"Later, lad," the older vampire said wearily, inspecting the graze on his shoulder. "We can discuss about the vampaneze anytime. For now, we have some evidence to bury."

Kurda sighed with disappointment, trundling behind his master sullenly as he headed over to scoop up the remnants of Robert and his brainless accomplices. But he couldn't stop the tiny smile that stretched across his face as Vaclav's proclamation rang across his thoughts.

_Purple! Who knew?_

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	6. Alone

**Chapter 6 : Alone.**

Nights passed in a blur as both Kurda and his mentor ventured from town to town. Time and again, the younger vampire often questioned about the vampaneze, much to the older vampire's annoyance. After a final smack on the head and a furious snap of the tongue, Kurda decided to give up his curiosity all together.

Vaclav could get really testy during certain times, especially when it came to discussing 'blood traitors' and abominable human murderers. Yet, Kurda wondered constantly about the other breed – the other half of the misguided vampire clan.

It intrigued him to no end. Kin to his own, and yet traditionalists to the extreme.

_I wonder what it's like to meet one,_ he mused, patiently sparring with his master. _How would he react to me? Vaclav said vampaneze are all murderers, and they're most likely to kill a vampire out of sheer challenge if their paths cross, but I don't think so…_

He blinked as the sword he was trading blows with suddenly went flying from his grasp, landing with clatter a few feet away. The dilapidated church they were currently taking refuge in echoed eerily with his mistake.

Gulping nervously, Kurda fixed his gaze upon Vaclav, only grin sheepishly as green eyes narrowed dangerously at him.

"What is the matter with you, lad? That's the fourth time you haven't been paying attention today!" the older man snapped impatiently.

"Um…Sorry…?"

Vaclav growled angrily, but his features suddenly smoothed over in an instant, surpassed by a mask of deadly calm. Somehow, this cool countenance made Kurda more edgy than ever. His master's eyes were cold and hard, promising a punishment more severe than anything he had ever experienced.

And true to his fear, the older vampire suddenly held him in a firm grip, dragging him painfully out of the church and into the surrounding forest. Thick creepers glimmered eerily under the moonlight, their shadows groping every inch of his body like thorny hands. Somewhere nearby, a lone wolf bayed to the moon, its mournful plight slicing the deadly calm. Not even the crickets chirped or the leaves rustled with their passing.

"V-Vaclav…?" Kurda started, feeling more nervous than ever. "W-Where are y-you…?"

"Quiet!"

Kurda's jaws clamped shut immediately. He almost screamed as the vampire hauled past a thorny bramble bush, the sharp spikes tearing through his clothes and flesh like serrated knives.

_Not good,_ instinct warned him_. Not good at all…_

But the true extent of his punishment only became evident when they chanced upon a desolate clearing. A small abandoned fountain stood petulantly in the middle, the chipped marble statue of an angel praying towards the heavens barely visible from the thick foliage of ivy strangling it.

Politely confused, Kurda allowed himself to be towed towards the fountain, only to hiss and the sharp odor of decay permeated the air. Before he knew it, he was being tossed into the filthy liquid – the pungent stench filling his nostrils and entering his lungs. Choking loudly as he broke through the surface of the water, he gasped as a pair of hands shoved him down roughly again.

"S-Stop!" he spluttered, confused and drenched.

_Why is he doing this? _

"You need to learn, Kurda," Vaclav said quietly, dunking his head into the putrid water over and over again each time he tried to resurface.

"B-But…!"

Down again. Ice cold. Slippery moss all around. Can't hold on.

_Apologize,_ his conscience urged. _Apologize quickly! Tell him you're sorry!_

"I cannot tolerate a vampire that can't has no desire to learn."

"I'm sor-…"

Water. More ice. More darkness. Too cold. Need to get out.

_Apologize, lad! Hurry!_

"What good is a vampire that cannot stand on his own two feet? We all have to part ways someday, Kurda."

He barely comprehended Vaclav's somber statement as he was dipped below once more.

_No more,_ his body moaned, his spirit bent. _Please stop…no more…_

"I have to teach you, but you must be willing to learn."

Black. Cold.

_No more! Please stop! _

"I chose you because I thought you were brave – young and willing. I guess I erred."

Agony. Can't feel anything…_STOP!_

"I'm afraid this is the only way, Kurda."

His face finally tore through the surface, his body greedily gulping mouthfuls of air like a dying fish. Vaclav stood next to him, a mixture of anger and pity reflected in his eyes. Kurda continued to gasp, his heart thudding rampantly in his chest as his lungs burned. A sliver ran down his stomach and he lurched forwards – the upper half of his body dangling awkwardly out of the stone basin – vomiting out his last meal.

He still had the vile stench of decay and rot in his mouth, but he couldn't do anything to wash out remnants of the foul taste. His body just kept jolting out of its own volition, the muscles in his legs going numb with cold as he continued to wretch on the ground below.

"I'm really sorry, lad. But this is the only way we all learn."

Without a backwards glance to see how his assistant was faring, Vaclav strode away into the dark, leaving Kurda shivering and heaving on his own in the dingy forest. Kurda lifted his hand feebly – as if the mere gesture would somehow manage to recall his master – only to collapse heavily in exhaustion.

Tears pricked the corner of his eyes as he was left to learn the harshest lesson of all in the vampire world :

_By the end of the day, you walk the shadows alone._

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	7. Saint

**Chapter 7 : Saint.**

He didn't know how long he laid curled up by the abandoned fountain, sniveling and shivering like a bedraggled rat. The verdant forest around him was virtually lifeless – only gnarled yew trees intertwining their skeletal fingers around the branches of their kin were scattered around him. It was cold and dead.

_Just like seven years ago,_ Kurda realized sadly. _No better when the plague hit. _

A sudden flash of a kindred woman with golden locks and a cheery smile made his eyes swim with unshed tears.

_Mother…_

He hissed at the pain that sliced through his heart – the agony that coursed through his veins. His brother was missing. His mother was dead. His mentor deserted him. He was _alone_.

_Alone…All alone…_

He choked and coughed, the salty pearls finally running down his cheeks. He didn't even notice the faint rustle in the thicket ahead, neither did he pay attention to the low growl that echoed right in front of him.

_Mother…Vaclav…_

_Why did they leave me? _He wondered balefully, shaking with numbness. _Wasn't I good enough? Wasn't I…?_

The growl increased by an octave and Kurda flinched. He lifted his head by a fraction, only to stare into hungry amber eyes. He winced at the large teeth bared at him – at the ferocious wrinkled muzzle that was drawn back in a guttural snarl.

But he didn't do anything. Why should he fight when no one was left? Why live when death was staring at him in the eye, taunting him in the form of a beast?

_No,_ the vampire blood in him counteracted, boiling with wrath at his bland submission. _You are a vampire – a true creature of the shadows. You are not a coward. Fight back. Fight to reclaim your life._

_Too late, _he argue miserably as the panther sidled into a crouch, its hackles raised as it prepared for a savage leap. _No use fighting against a beast that needs to fill its belly._

_No! Fight back! Get up and fi-_

The panther leapt and Kurda squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting for the razor sharp claws to sink into the delicate skin of his throat. He was startled however, by the loud yowl that suddenly pierced the night, followed by the thunderous clang of metal slicing through bone. Wondering who had saved him from the jaws of certain death, he snapped his eyes awake, only to watch in awe as a man – or rather creature of some sort – fend of the larger animal, hacking mercilessly at its forelegs.

With one final mewl of terror, the panther limped towards the forest, its pathetic keens of pain swallowed by the pressing darkness. The man before him drew in ragged breaths, before turning to glance at the fetal-crouched vampire, a short scythe held in his hand.

Through dazed eyes that mirrored shock from what he had just witnessed, Kurda couldn't help but notice the lavender and burgundy markings. "You're a vampaneze!"

The vampaneze smiled gently at him, and for a long while, Kurda Smahlt couldn't help but grin back happily.

-

His name was Marlon – Marlon Degussa. He was a great warrior among his kin, his hands capable of wielding any weapon he touched for the first time with perfect expertise. He was three hundred and twenty nine years old – a loner by tradition who used to have an apprentice, but the latter part ways with his master two years ago on account of having his own assistant someday.

This much information Kurda managed to gather from the odd stranger before him as they waited for the fish in front of them too cook.

"So how long have you been on your own, boy?" the vampaneze rasped, prodding the tiny spit in front of them with a stick.

Kurda's spirits dipped a little. "Not very long," he said quietly.

The purple skinned man chuckled throatily, before turning around and rummaging through the tiny leather satchel that laid by his feet. He pulled out a small blue box and tossed it at the younger vampire.

"That oughta put a smile on your face, aye?"

He winked and Kurda stared at the tiny parcel in confusion. Carefully placing the tip of his finger under the lid, he popped it open, only to blink in even more puzzlement at the curved shape object at the bottom.

"Leopard fang," Marlon answered, poking the fish once more. "Killed the cat back in the Amazon when I was a wee urchin by vampaneze years. My master told me leopard blood tasted the best, so I thought I'd have some fun trying to test the old codger's words." He scrunched his face up, as if reminiscing some horrible tragedy. "Damn beast was harder to take down than I'd expected. Nearly gouged my eyes out with its blasted claws – not at all a coward of a cat like the one that tried to eat you."

Kurda didn't say anything. He handed the box with the fang back to the vampaneze, but to his surprise, the man declined.

"Gah, keep it. I can kill cats anytime on my own. Might get lucky and take down a lion this time."

Kurda gaped at him openly, his cheeks flaring.

"Wh-What…?" he spluttered in disbelief.

Marlon sighed and patted him on the shoulder. "You're a good assistant, kid. That much I can sense in you, even if you're from the opposite end."

The blonde half-vampire shook his head. "But nobody wants me. Even my master left me for dead in the forest…"

"Then he's a right bloody fool!" Marlon thundered, his blue flecked eyes losing all its warmth. Kurda shied away at the sudden anger his tone; the vampaneze sighed heartily as he watched the half-vampire's reaction.

"My apologies, boy. I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's alright," Kurda mumbled, staring at the bright ambers that licked the underbelly of the spit.

Marlon shook his head. "No, it isn't. It irks me to see how one could abandon one's assistant so carelessly and unmercifully. One should not teach, lest he be prepared to handle an untrained student." He smiled kindly at Kurda. "You're not as half-bad as you seem, boy. Granted, you did not spar well, but every wave has its ups and downs."

Kurda's mouth flopped open and close like a goldfish. "You were spying on us?"

"Nay, I was merely observing."

"Sure you were," the younger vampire teased, raising his left brow.

Marlon laughed and slapped his thigh. "I knew saving you wasn't a bad idea at all." He poked the fish one last time, before shooting a grin at Kurda. "Up for some fish, my boy?"

Kurda smiled in return. "Sure."

Marlon doused the simmering flames with some water from his canteen and removed their meal from the spit gently, pausing once in his task to glance back at Kurda.

"Oh, Kurda?"

The half-vampire looked up from the leopard fang he had began to trace with his finger – his first gift. Oddly enough, he felt quite giddy and ecstatic with it.

"You may call me master if you wish."

And Kurda Smahlt had never heard happier words in his life.

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	8. Apprentice

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**Chapter 8 : Apprentice. **

It had been almost a month since Marlon Degussa took the young vampire under his wing. Granted, he was never fond of vampires, particularly younglings that could barely fend for themselves, but there was just something about the blonde half-vampire that Marlon found amusing.

And no, he didn't have any interest in _that_ sense for Kurda. But he had to admit, for one so young and inexperienced, Kurda had proved himself time and again to be quite a thinker. His curiosity sometimes thread over the older vampaneze's nerves, but as his old master Harek Theorkez used to say, "The kittens always nose around the edges of the house and find the mice first, Marlon. But it's up to the cats to teach them how to hunt."

Until now, Marlon had no clue what his mentor meant – until he encountered Kurda.

"How long does it take to fashion a scythe then?"

Sighing heavily, Marlon turned to glance at his companion. The boy really should take his nose and stick it in a gunny sack for awhile. _Maybe counting rice bits would occupy him,_ Marlon mused. _Or maybe not,_ he thought again as he noticed the bland persistence in the pair of ice blue eyes from across him.

"Marlon…?"

_He isn't going to let this go, is he?_

"It depends on the metal you use, boy," he replied as gently as he could. "Mine took three years to make by hand alone. I had to carve out the wanted elements from the rock first with my bare hands. Wasn't too much of a hassle with Harek pointing out what to do first."

Which hadn't been quite a fortunate experience. The batty old nut actually placed a clump of granite on his apprentice's lap one day, and laughed while the younger vampaneze tried desperately to mold some metal out of the limestone ( he hadn't known that there wasn't any metal to be found from that infernal rock at that time ), much to the latter's chagrin.

But the past was past. Harek was long dead and Marlon was one of the very few of his kin left. Not that Kurda knew, of course. He'd purposely misled the boy into thinking there were thousands of them, when in reality, there were less than a hundred left.

"Harek…?"

The older man groaned internally. His belly was rumbling with hunger – he had long gone without feeding – and having an inquisitive halfling asking questions was driving out what little patience he usually had.

"Later, boy," he breathed, his gut clenching. "I'll explain it all to you later."

"You're hungry," Kurda noted quietly. The vampaneze stopped in his tracks, staring incredulously at the vampire by his side.

"How did you know that?"

Kurda flinced at the suspicion he heard in the older man's voice.

"Your coloring is…_off_ somewhat."

Marlon could help but chuckle at his observation. He watched Kurda's eyes light up when he realized his master wasn't irritated or annoyed, or rather seemed to be, but was carefully shielding it from him knowing.

"Quite a perceptive young lad you are, aye? Keep that mind of yours sharp, Kurda. I have a feeling you'll be a fine strategist someday."

Kurda nodded mutely, his eyes straying to the darkened alley they were currently sauntering in. Marlon suddenly held out his hand, forcing the young half-vampire to stop.

"I think it's unwise for me to wait any longer. I will go and feed for a moment. Stay here."

Without looking back to see whether his new apprentice understood his command or not, Marlon took off immediately, gliding away like a silent phantom into the night. Kurda hesitated as he watched the vampaneze leave, his curiosity piqued.

_Feed? He was going to feed? _

Kurda looked around nervously, his heart stammering in his chest. He had never seen a vampaneze feed before. Vaclav told him once that vampaneze were driven to kill when they sup and absorb a shard of their victim's soul.

_Was that why Marlon behaves as if there's another person talking through him sometimes?_ he wondered, confused and excited at the same time. _Maybe I should just take a look and see for myself…But would he-_ He shook his head. _No, I don't think he would mind._

He willed his heart to slow down to its usual cadence and strutted towards the deeper end of the alleyway. A mangy feline hissed as he strode past, the back of its fur bristling in warning. Kurda ignored it and continued in his quest, his nostrils flaring as he tried to track Marlon's scent.

Everyone, he'd noticed after being blooded, had a faint odor that helped to distinguish them from each other's kin. Vampires, for example, had often emitted a musky smell that was sometimes rancid when overpowered with sweat and grime. Vampaneze smelt more or less like blood and copper, a distinct scent that set his own senses on alarm.

But days spent travelling with his new master had eventually eased his inner instinct to either fight or flee, although there were times his muscles remained taut and tense, ready to spring into action should the need arise.

Right now, the air was thick with the scent of copper and rust – of blood and salt.

_Marlon._

Kurda moved carefully amongst the shadows, taking careful steps towards the silhouette of a man at the end of the alley. With such dim lighting he could vaguely make out the purple coloring of the man's skin, and the outline of a female on his lap. He could hear the sickening greedy gulps being emitted by the vampaneze, and was slight awestruck when he noticed another figure leaning casually against the alley wall, its hands knotted behind its head.

"A new apprentice? I thought you decided not to blood anymore after me, master," the man stretched next to the feeding vampaneze stated, his ruby eyes glimmering softly.

Kurda paused. That tone, that voice…Where had heard it before?

The vampaneze crouched on the ground abandoned his meal and stood up, wiping the trail of blood running down his chin with his sleeve.

"I thought so too. I just happen to chance upon another on my way back to Moscow."

The other vampaneze clucked his tongue. "Is he any worth the trouble? I doubt anyone would be willing to take in another half-blood at this time. Gannen has been complaining that we're being too careless in blooding as it is."

Kurda heard the other vampaneze chuckle – he was sure that it was Marlon.

_But who's the other?_ he wondered curiously. _I seem to know him, yet…_

"Gannen Harst has always been too much of a worrywart," Marlon replied. "I say we give any strong lad a chance to join our ranks, aye?"

The other vampaneze shifted a little, his eyebrows raised. "You seem to be quite fond of this one. Do I get the pleasure of meeting him?"

"Perhaps." The atmosphere was thick with silence for a minute, and Kurda found himself sweating in anticipation.

_That voice…that face…the words…that pose…_he kept thinking over and over again, straining his memory to recall some answers. _Where have I seen and heard it all before?_

But he needn't have bothered. The unknown man pushed himself off the wall swiftly, stepping into the barely visible light that was cast from the moon above. Kurda's world shattered and his feet faltered, crashing into the abandoned pile of cartons he was hiding behind. Two startled faces whipped around to stare at him, but nothing prepared them for the next word that Kurda uttered.

"K-Kulen?"

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	9. Blood

**D.V.'s Note.**

Hello peeps! Thousand and one apologies for my long absence; I've been focusing on my exams and pressure in uni was slaughtering my brain cells. Nevertheless, I'm back for a few months.

**THIS STORY HAS BEEN REWRITTEN.** Please go and **REREAD** it from the beginning, or you will be completely lost. I've added new scenes and characters, changed the plot and revamped the storyline, so everything is different. Also, I plan to rewrite ALL my stories except for 'The Chatroom'. I haven't accomplished this with the other stories yet, but don't worry – I'm changing everything.

Thanks for all your support, my silent readers and my vocal reviewers!

P.S. My profile page now provides links to both my deviantart and fictionpress account. Check them out if you have any spare time.

Cheers! ;)

~Jo

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**Chapter 9: Blood.**

The world around him shattered into a million pieces, the tiny shards of truth embedding themselves deep into his soul. Kurda felt tears gather in the corners of his eyes. His throat convulsed reflexively, his body numb with disbelief.

The wind roared in his ears, screaming, '_Kulen, Kulen, Kulen'_ without pause.

_But no,_ his mind refuted. _It can't be. Kulen is dead. Mother believed he was alive, but he is dead. He must be…_

Yet there he was, the mirror image of Kurda himself, all in his languid purple-skinned splendor.

"Who are you?" the vampaneze growled, immediately unsheathing a small sword from the scabbard tucked in his belt.

Marlon moved swiftly to intercept him from advancing on the shell-shocked blonde vampire, his hands splayed apart in gentle appease. The younger vampaneze snarled at the older man, his red eyes glinting maliciously under the moonlight.

"Have you gone blind in my absence, master? That's a vampire right there!"

A pointed glare in Kurda's direction sent the half-vampire scrambling a few steps backwards.

The armed vampaneze snorted. "And a downright dirty coward by the looks of it. I guess we aren't the only ones who have been careless in blooding. Gannen would be happy."

"Kulen…" Marlon warned silently. The latter hissed unhappily in return, raising his sword more threateningly.

Kurda watched the interaction between both men with growing awareness, the dull haze clouding his mind slowly dissipating. So it was true. His younger brother – his flesh and blood – had escaped death's clutches, only to be inducted into the darkness; the same darkness that Kurda had fallen into as soon as he'd succumbed to Vaclav's seductive wishes of companionship.

_No, _he thought miserably, shaking away the last affirmation. _A vampire I might be, but I do not kill ruthlessly or without proper cause. But Kulen's a vampaneze – it is in his very nature to kill to survive the nights to come._

That truth was the hardest to swallow. It never mattered that Kulen had no idea who he was. After all, how could a five year old (at that time) remember the face of a boy that brought home fireflies in oil lamps simply because his little brother had been terrified of the dark? Or secretly stashed some blueberries in the crawlspace above the rafters when his brother got up hungry in the middle of the night?

"I say we skewer him alive and use his hide as an example of the worthless pacifists vampires have become," Kulen said haughtily, circling around his mentor to take a swipe at Kurda.

"It's not like you think, lad. Put that sword away and I shall explain," Marlon reiterated, matching Kulen's movements.

The younger vampaneze hissed again, but it was clear by his perplexed expression that he had no inkling of the relationship between Kurda and Marlon. Kurda realized that he had to react soon, or risk watching a spar to the death between master and once-upon-a-time apprentice. He balked at that very notion.

Even if his brother had turned into a vampaneze, he still loved him regardless. And he owed Marlon his life for sheltering and nurturing him all the while. It was impossible to think of any of them as dead.

"Why are you defending him?" Kulen questioned, his eyes boring into Kurda's own. "Has time really softened you to their kin? Harek would most certainly be displeased, had he lived."

Marlon let out an angry snarl and tackled Kulen to the ground. Kurda could only look on in growing horror as each one tried to best the other, relying more on brute strength rather than weaponry.

_You have to stop this,_ a soft voice in his head echoed, causing Kurda's eyes to widen incredulously.

_Impossible, _he thought._ Could it really be…? M-Mother…?_

The feminine tone ignored his acknowledgement and pressed on more resolutely. _Stop them, my son. Or it will not end well for both your friend and your brother. Stop them or it will be too late to salvage what little acquaintanceship you might share with them. _

Somewhat thrilled by his mother – oh, his mother! – speaking to him, Kurda felt his unease and alarm ebb away. A sudden swish of metal beyond his right ear squashed his temporal euphoria.

Stop them, she'd said. But how? How was he suppose to evade bloodshed without wrenching both men apart long enough to listen to his plight?

_Then make them listen. Words are gold coins strewn to sweeten the mouth of the angriest of sailors, _his mother's gentle lilt continued. _Use words. Gentle yet persuasive. Remind them of who you are…_

The last two words echoed and faded away into his subconscious. Kurda nearly slapped himself for not seeing it sooner. He was a strategist – a careful, deliberate thinker that outweighed every possibility and made the right choice, no matter what it cost. How could he ever forget what he was capable of?

A loud clash and a horrid yell snapped at his senses. He could stop this. He had to.

With his heart thudding madly in his ribcage, Kurda inched closer towards the fray.

"You stole an apple from Lady Rose's garden on Christmas Eve because you wanted to give Mother a present."

Both Kulen and Marlon froze, the former rasping heavily as his head snapped up to meet Kurda's. Shocked rubies collided with frozen blue, neither submitting to each other's gazes.

Kurda continued, his voice gaining in volume. "She caught you when you were trying to climb over the fence. She sent Roger Finley and the Southern Boys the next day to give you a good beating. Only problem was, we looked so alike back then that Roger mistook me for you, and I lied to take his blows."

Kulen glared, but his fingers shook as he watched Kurda peel his breeches low enough to expose the thin, crescent shaped scar branded on his hip.

"He used his father's cattle prong, remember?" he said softly, ignoring Marlon's amazed look. "I was so scared, but I didn't scream. I didn't want to because I wanted to be strong. I knew you were watching what they did to me. You hid-"

"Behind the haystack," Kulen murmured, before looking away. The muscles in his arms contracted, and his sword landed with a dull clatter on the ground.

Marlon slowly eased away from the trembling vampaneze and got to his feet with a heavy sigh. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but shook his head to himself, thinking better of it.

"Kulen…" Kurda whispered, stepping closer.

He paused, however, when his mentor walked past him and patted him reassuringly on the back. A tiny trickle of blood rolled down the older vampaneze's neck from where the blade had been pressed into.

"Do the right thing, lad ,"Marlon whispered in his ear, before strolling away and leaving the pair alone.

Kurda clenched his fists, ignoring the tears that pricked his eyes. Kulen still laid crouched on the ground, unmoving.

"Kulen…" he tried again, before crouching down by his brother's side. "Kulen…"

It was the only word that managed to roll off his tongue. There was so much to say…so much to convey…_What should I do?_ He wondered bitterly. _Words can only go so far…_

"You left me."

Kurda blinked, startled by the sudden raspy tone. Kulen slowly turned around, his eyes hard and pained.

"You said you would find me in the woods after you counted to ten, but you never came," he muttered haughtily.

Kurda winced as he struggled to recall the day his brother went missing. But all he drew up were fuzzy images and distorted voices, nothing reasonable or cohesive.

"It was raining," Kulen continued softly. "I took shelter under a tree. I waited for you to come, but you didn't. You promised, Kurda. So I sat still and waited. But you didn't _come_."

Tears streamed down the half-vampire's cheeks. He couldn't remember. Why couldn't he remember that wretched day?

"Kulen, I-"

"You lied," the vampaneze spat suddenly, his face twisting into anger. "That's how he found me, you know. How he turned me into what I am." He stared at his purple fingers and flexed them, before laughing coldly. "And now, you're one too. One of the damned. A blood-drinker. A _vampire_."

Kurda instinctively reached out to embrace the hysterical vampaneze – to comfort him, to tell him that he was sorry he wasn't there, to let him know that he couldn't remember – but Kulen immediately grabbed hold of his arms forcefully and pushed him upwards. Within a second, Kurda found himself pressed against the moss coated brick wall, his feet dangling in mid-air and his younger brother's nails biting into his throat and arm.

"Make no mistake, vampire. Blood brother or not, you deserve no amount of clemency from me," Kulen snarled, his lips curled over his teeth. "You are my enemy, Kurda Smahlt. No longer do you hold any tie to me, be it in life or death. You are a vampire – a pathetic coward and a disposable pawn in this wretched world. Never you forget that."

"K-Kulen…!" Kurda choked out, only to flail when the vampaneze tightened his grip.

"From this day forward, I shall crush whatever meager happiness you possess, Kurda. Not even that traitor of a mentor of mine shall aid you when I strike you down. Remember this day, _brother _– for you shall rue the moment you chose to break your oath to me all those years ago."

With those last words, Kulen dropped Kurda and spat at his shivering frame on the ground, before disappearing into the looming the darkness. Even then, Kurda couldn't restrain the last three words that slipped past his lips as his vision swam with tears.

"Kulen, I'm sorry…"

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	10. DV's Note

**D.V.'s Note.**

Hi people!

I know it's been a long time since I've updated anything on this site, but I have a perfectly reasonable explanation. And yes, I can already picture some of you rolling your eyes or muttering under your breath, "That's what she always says, that stupid procrastinator. Excuse after excuse. Yeah, right!"

Well, put away the pitchforks and spare at least a minute to hear me out.

I'm currently studying my second year of Medical Bioscience in Australia, and the academic attention is certainly taking up tons of time. But here's the best bit:-

I'm getting my book published. An agency from Canada/US was willing to represent me and the editor wanted to have a peek at my manuscript and negotiate a full contract (to which I asked her to buy me some time because I'm rewriting huge portions of my story and balancing a full time Medical degree; no easy task, let me tell you). She hasn't replied yet, but I'm hoping and praying things will work out.

I want to personally thank some of the coolest people I've met on that has either helped me through this (one of you guys even turned out to be the best penpal and editor ever! And yes, that's you, B! THANKS!) or inspired me to continue, or even just wanted to have a chat with me:-

-musical-gerbil- (Love you darling! Thanks a ton for everything! )

-AnyatheRhymer- (It's nice to bump into another Malaysian who can write very well! Thanks for all the chat sessions! ;) )

-Alicia- (Sorry hon, forgot your pen name –sheepish smile- Thanks for being one of the first people on the site to talk to me!)

-GunnerGirl- (My first reviewer! How could I ever thank you? –kisses feet-)

-CocoLime- (Probably one of my most favorite reviewers. She always makes my ego swell with her sweet comments)

-Naomi- (Most possibly we'll never see each other online again due to schedule clashes, but if you were to ever read this, thank you for being so kind to me)

-Kimmeth and Halt at X- (you two have been loyally supporting my DS fics, I can never thank you enough for this! )

-Twisted Ingenue- (Previously KurdasGirl, if I'm not mistaken – Thanks for your awesome reviews and support!)

And there are plenty more that I can thank – if only I could meet each and every one of personally, I'd hug you all and give you a gigantic box of chocolates. Thanks everyone for all your support, constructive criticisms, reviews, and lovely PMs.

I was planning to scrap off some ficlets, but after looking back at the crappy stories and awesome people that made my life more colorful than it was meant to be, I had no heart to. Every word I wrote on this site just proved to me how much I've moved up the scale of amateurism to professionalism, so I'm going to let them stay the way they are (with some edited and upgraded portions in due time) for memory's sake. So I will **CONTINUE** writing, just probably at infrequent and random moments. I don't plan on giving up – I'm no longer a quitter like I once used to be. So hang in there, and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to PM me.

**THANKS EVERYONE!**

P.S. If you have any queries about my book, I'm afraid I won't be able to divulge much, including the title and storyline for fear of plagiarists and a future legal lawsuit (on my end, should anyone get bright ideas to rip off my hard work). But I can tell you this : it's under the paranormal romance category and fishes a completely new uptake on how we see our current world. ;)

P.P.S. Word of advice : Don't give up on your dreams. I failed 40 times and I quit. But two years later and God's answer comes knocking on my door. So have a little faith in what you're doing and Him. Things always never work out with a 'yes', but with the 'best'. So be patient and **DON'T** give up! 

~Jo


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